Poltorn was dead. Hoshi didn't know why she was surprised. She herself had said that Galarn was acting as if he was in charge. Now Galarn's actions and words made a lot more sense.
She considered what this would mean to their mission as she tried to untie Jon. His body had sagged forward and the ropes holding him to the chair were taut, making it hard to loosen the knots.
"Did Galarn kill Poltorn?" she asked Malcolm as she picked at one of the knots binding Jon's legs.
"One of the others did, but Galarn gave the order. That much I could follow. I don't know why he wanted Poltorn dead, but he's definitely the one in charge now," he replied. Having freed Trip, he lowered the larger man to the floor.
"We'll just have to keep dealing with Galarn, then," she said. "I can't help but wonder if our search for Williams has something to do with Galarn bumping off Poltorn."
"It could have been something Galarn was already planning and we just got caught in the middle," Malcolm said, coming to help with Jon. Hoshi braced the captain to keep him from tumbling off the chair as the ropes fell away, then helped ease him to the floor.
"They're breathing normally and their pulse rates seem OK, so I don't think anything's wrong with them other than being drugged," Malcolm said, sitting back on his heels next to Jon. "My first aid training dealt more with injuries, so I can't be certain, though."
Hoshi blew out a breath. Look on the bright side, she told herself. She had found her crewmates, and they didn't appear to be too much the worse for wear.
Poltorn's death, however, meant she would have to keep interacting with Galarn, much as he repulsed her. Galarn was interested in her, and she could use herself as a bargaining chip if she had to. That wasn't the way she wanted to play it, but --
"Do you still have your phase pistol?" Malcolm asked, interrupting her train of thought.
"Yes." Opening her purse, she pulled out the undersized gun.
"They let you keep it?"
"Apparently," she said as she put it back in the purse. "Maybe they don't expect women to carry weapons around in their purses and they didn't think to look in it. Or maybe they didn't know what it was, since it doesn't look like a gun. Or," she added, her voice dripping with contempt, "maybe Galarn wanted to make me feel better by letting me have something to defend my honor with."
Malcolm glanced sharply at her, but any comment he might have made was cut off by a moan from Trip.
Hoshi hurried to kneel by Trip's side. "It's OK. We're here," she said, brushing the hair back from his forehead.
"Would somebody please tell the elephants tap dancin' in my head to go away," Trip mumbled, not opening his eyes.
Hoshi smiled at his familiar drawl. Two of her three companions were back among the living.
Malcolm helped Trip to a sitting position. As the engineer's eyes opened a crack, he saw Jon lying a few feet away. "Is the captain OK?"
"I think so," Malcolm said. "He either drank more than you or it's affecting him more."
"It's probably because I've had more practice drinkin' and I can handle it better," Trip said. He started to laugh, but immediately stopped and held his head. "Damn, that hurts."
"Do you want to get on the chair?" Hoshi asked.
"Not yet. I think my equilibrium's kinda low to the ground right now. ... Where are we?"
"Some type of warehouse," Hoshi said. "From what I've seen, I don't think it's being used for anything."
Hoshi and Malcolm recounted what had happened to each of them. Trip shot a glance at the body in the shadows when Malcolm told him about Poltorn's demise. Malcolm went into more detail than he had with Hoshi, and she grimaced at the description of the vicious beating Poltorn had taken before he was shot between the eyes.
"I got the impression it could happen to us, too," Malcolm said as he finished. "Galarn said something about 'tightening the bolts.'"
"Screws," Hoshi corrected him
"No, it was definitely 'bolts.'"
"Probably a variation in Hadian," Hoshi said, intrigued by the differences in the languages despite their situation. "It's unrealistic to assume they use the exact phrases as we did on Earth."
Trip broke into their conversation. "This is all very interestin', but we need to figure out how to get out of here."
The men checked their pockets as well as Jon's. The communicators Trip and Jon had been carrying were gone, as was Malcolm's mini phase pistol. They had brought a minimum of equipment -- the less they carried, the less they would have to explain or retrieve if those items were discovered. Hoshi guessed from Malcolm's disgusted expression that he was probably remembering the time he had lost his communicator and the resulting mess that occurred when they'd tried to get it back.
Only the items in Hoshi's purse were undisturbed -- her pistol, the data padd, and a wad of currency. Too bad there hadn't been room for a communicator, she thought. Now there was no way to contact the ship, and T'Pol wasn't expecting them to check in until morning.
Malcolm declined Hoshi's offer to take her pistol. He explained that the pistol's small size meant a correspondingly small power cell, and it was only good for three or four shots.
"We shouldn't use it until it's absolutely necessary," he said. "Until then, it's safer in your purse."
Hoshi went to check on Jon as Malcolm got up and walked around the perimeter of the large room. The far corners were indistinct in the weak illumination, but there was enough light for her to see him skirt Poltorn's body. He paused at each of the two windows before completing the circuit, then peered up into the darkness.
"I don't think there's any way out through the ceiling," he said, going over to where Trip was sitting on the floor. "And the windows are barred and boarded up."
"There's got to be some way out of here," Trip said, cradling his head in his hands.
Hoshi felt a rush of sympathy for Trip, knowing exactly how weak and disoriented he must be feeling. It was the way she'd felt when she'd come around.
She cleared her throat. "Not that I don't want to get out of here, but we really can't do anything until the captain wakes up. And if we leave, we'll be back where we started. We still don't know where Williams is."
Trip groaned as he massaged his forehead. "You're right. You got any ideas about what to do?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
Jon was awake when the door was thrown open and Galarn, trailed by two armed men, swaggered into the room.
Hoshi put her arm protectively around Jon as Galarn sneered at the group -- she and Jon sitting on the floor, Malcolm standing a few paces behind them, and Trip seated in one of the chairs.
"Well, sweetheart," the gang boss said. "I see Jon's back with us."
"Don't call me sweetheart," she said, matching his sneer with one of her own.
"Come here."
When she didn't move, he motioned to one of his men, who lifted his handgun and pointed it at Jon. Hoshi didn't have to act -- her gasp was genuine. Jon shrugged her arm off his shoulders and gently pushed her away. At his nod, she slowly got to her feet.
"That's right," Galarn said. "You might not like it, but your boss knows what's good for you -- and him. Now come here, or Slartin will do more than point his gun."
She knew Galarn could use violence at any time to get what he wanted, but his threat to shoot Jon rattled her anyway. Gritting her teeth and clutching her shawl around her like a shield, Hoshi walked toward him. His imperious command, however, had made her angry -- no one ordered her around like a dog.
She knew reckless anger could get her or the others hurt, and so she tamped it down until it only smoldered, waiting to burst into flame if she needed it.
"Now what?" she asked, stopping a few feet from Galarn.
"Now you tell me what I want to know."
"It would be easier to explain if I could show you the results."
Galarn glanced expectantly at her feet.
"Oh, no! You're not getting near my feet," she said. "Where's the rube that Jon did surgery on?"
With a look of satisfaction, Galarn pounced on her slip-up. "Jon's the doctor, is he?"
Hoshi bit her lip as if dismayed. "Yes," she answered.
"Now I know why you're so fond of the big lug. What woman wouldn't like a man who can make her look better?" At her offended expression, he added, "Not that there's anything wrong with the way you look, sweetie. It's hard to improve on perfection."
Hoshi pasted a smug smile on her face as if mollified by his backhanded compliment. "Yes, well. Now, are you going to take me to see that guy or what?"
Galarn didn't say anything. Instead he walked out of the room, gesturing for Hoshi to follow him. The two armed men remained behind, watching her fellow officers from a safe distance.
In the corridor, Galarn tried to take her arm, but she jerked away. His stern stare drilled into her.
"I've been letting you get away with things I wouldn't put up with in another dame," he said. "That's because I like you. But I'm warning you -- I better see a change in your attitude soon, or your boyfriend's going to pay."
Hoshi knew it wasn't an idle threat. Poltorn's body was proof of that. She cast a last look at her friends through the open doorway before following Galarn down the hall.
At the opposite end of the hall, Galarn produced a key from one of his pockets and unlocked a door. It creaked open, revealing a small room with only a cot and a straight-backed chair. Lying on the cot was a man of medium stature, a bloody bandage wrapped around his head with wisps of matted hair sticking out. He wore a tattered, dirty jumpsuit. His feet were bare.
"What did you do to him?" Hoshi asked accusingly.
"Didn't do anything to him but put that bandage on," Galarn said. "He had a nasty cut on his head when we found him."
At the sound of voices, the man on the bed struggled to sit up. "Who are you?" he asked weakly in English.
"I'm going to get you out of here," Hoshi replied in the same language. "Trust me."
"Hey!" Galarn said. "You know his gibberish?"
"I told you. It's the code our gang uses," she said matter-of-factly as she sat by Williams on the cot.
Switching back to English, she spoke as quickly as she could. "I'm a Starfleet officer here to get you off this planet. Go along when I start examining you. They think you've had surgery to--"
"Stop that!" Galarn was glowering at them. "I want to know what you're talking about."
"He must have hit his head," Hoshi said, running her hands over Williams' head. "He doesn't remember how to speak normally."
"That's convenient," Galarn said suspiciously.
"I don't understand what's going on," Williams whimpered.
"Shut up!" Hoshi ordered harshly in English. She was gratified that, so far, she hadn't confused which language to use at what time. It would be just her luck to say something in one when she meant to use the other and, in the process, really let something slip.
She looked over at the gangster. "Jon's got a lot invested in this guy. He'll be happy to see him."
"Yeah, I'm sure he will. Now spill it."
She didn't know much about surgical procedures, but she was willing to bet Galarn didn't, either. She'd just have to make something up -- the more confusing, the better. Grasping one of Williams' hands, she held it out where Galarn could see it.
"This is the most recent innovation," she said in her school teacher voice. "Jon's come up with a way to remove finger webs without leaving scars. The patient has to be knocked out during the procedure, because it can be painful, not to mention the psychological ramifications of seeing a part of yourself excised, a part that is, by the very nature of its location, able to be viewed by anyone and therefore subject to criticism and ridicule.
She glanced up to see Galarn listening intently to the bull she was feeding him. So far, so good.
"As you can see, there are no scars," she said, pointing to the bases of Williams' fingers. "That's due to tools Jon has developed. He's found that certain wavelengths, when decompressed from the oscillating luminescence that makes up electromagnetic radiation and then refocused retroactively and in an obfuscating manner, can be harnessed to create an infinitesimally miniscule beam that has incredibly powerful properties. So while the ocular organ in its unembellished state cannot register any defensive fibrous tissue growth, they are in actuality there."
She patted Williams' hand and gave Galarn a pleased look.
Galarn looked anything but pleased. "I didn't understand half of what you said," he said.
"What didn't you understand?" she asked in her best dumb gangster moll imitation.
Galarn huffed. "I thought you were going to show me!"
"I did," she said. "I showed you his hand. And you can see his feet, too."
"That's not what I meant!" he cried in frustration. "I meant how it's done, and explained so I understand it."
"Jon will have to do that. I've just memorized that speech for prospective customers since, with Jon's speech problem, it would take him forever to get through all that." In a conspiratorial tone she added, "I don't understand it either. I'm just glad I can pronounce all those big words."
Galarn struggled to control himself. His hands were clenched and his lips were compressed to a narrow line. He took a step toward her, and she flinched, leaning away from him.
"Get up!" he yelled, adding, "Not him!" when Hoshi hauled Williams to his feet.
"But Jon needs him to show you how he does his surgery," Hoshi protested. "I'm not ready to have any more surgery, especially not in this filthy place, and not without an anesthetic."
She had used the right tack, she saw. The prospect of finding out how the surgery was done was too enticing for Galarn to pass up. He hustled them out of the room and back down the corridor.
